Blackened Album
by xFemdomx
Summary: Season 10 SPOILERS! What if Sam will never cure Deanmon? Jo tests out life with magical aid, brother is on the hunt for blackened brother, Hell is slipping from Crowley's fingers, and the rouge witch Rowena stirs up trouble for all sides in the background. When no one is on the same team and everyone has their own motives, how will the supernatural world fair in complete chaos?
1. Strange Days - The Doors

**Disclaimer: **In no way do I own Supernatural's characters or story lines.

**Note: **Thank you JbethH for making me realize Jo's character is one that I continued from my earlier fics, stemming from _Hunter's Playlist_ and _The Jo Collection_. I added a bit to this chapter serving as a small summary if you haven't read them.

And yes, the title of this story is a reference to Metallica's song of the same title, in the album ._..And Justice for All_

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Part I: Take Her Breath Away

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The Black Spur.

She was there, parked in front of bar and motel.

Crowley had appeared to her a week ago and told her where she might find Dean. There was, as always, a condition; she wasn't allowed to bring Sam, or Cas, or anyone.

He had warned that if he saw either in her company (of course he would be watching), he would warn his new favorite buddy and the two of them would ride off again without a trace.

Jo didn't argue that much.

She and Sam had become less and less talkative over the last couple of weeks. She felt he was becoming too intense to work with.

He was impulsive, and maybe just a little insane.

_All of the above really,_ she thought.

Last job they worked together he was acting altogether insane. Almost got the both of them killed. He ended up with damaged arm, and Jo with plenty of hefty bruises. After that, they kept a vaguely tense distance, the bunker was big enough that she only really saw him in the library or kitchen.

It's not like the two of them really got along that well anymore anyway, not after their adventures together without his soul.

And it wasn't like Castiel and she ever really had much of a special relationship either. From what she understood, he was back on Angel duty, not to be disturbed with anything unconnected to Heaven.

Jo decided to keep hunting. Since both Winchesters were off, consumed by their own problems once agin, there was a lot backed up, and she decided to make it her mission to try to return the supernatural order to some kinda normalcy.

A lot of hunters died over the last few years, but the chaos was far from over. And once again, she drew the short straw for backup.

It's why she tried her hand in practicing white magic a couple years back, for the extra firepower in desperate times.

When Kevin was still alive and on the run, Dean in Purgatory, and Sam living the romantic veterinary life, Jo had to promote herself in the business. And the pay was not without cool magical perks.

She and Garth became the frontrunners against Crowley's burning desire for the Demon Tablet and all the power it possessed for his kingdom. Jo had responded with a cleaner kind of power, and became a self-taught witch to fight back with a little of the same supernatural muscle he had flexed around her constantly.

And now, years later, the King of Hell was still the center of her troubles, even when she didn't particularly know it yet.

He reminded her of this after a typical salt n' burn, a mischievous twinkle in his eye and the offer on his lips.

Everything that he'd put her through in the gap year of the Winchesters should have made Jo stab him with the angel blade right when he appeared.

She nearly did, until he mentioned Dean and his current condition.

It crossed Jo's mind when Crowley told her; _why does he want me to find Dean?_

That took some time for her to riddle out.

It was The Mark; it needed to be fed.

And Crowley needed confirmation that his new best friend would choose to stay a demon over seeing a face he used to love.

Jo guessed he was working his way up the latter. Maybe he would appear to Sam after this, get even more proof that Dean was choosing a life in the black over his old life in green.

It was pathetic, she thought, the way Crowley's been suffering from the feels for quite some time now. His demented need to be loved was just a terrible fit for a ruler of Hell.

Jo wasn't exactly sure _how_ Dean was now, or exactly where he was on the richter scale of evil. But it was Dean, so she had to show.

Old habits die-hard, and the days get stranger still.

And here she was, surely with Crowley's goons somewhere in the shadows, making sure Sam and Cas weren't in the picture.

She got out of the car.

Armed with only her new found witchyness based in stones strapped to her fingers, an angel blade, and Dean's old pearl-gripped colt loaded with bullets engraved; trap on them.

Joanna walked up to the room that Crowley graciously supplied her with during their little secret meeting.

She pressed her ear to the crack.

His voice definitely was grumbling, rough, exchanging with another, lighter one.

A woman.

She blinked, and vaguely felt the familiar drop of heart weigh down on her stomach. It wasn't that surprising, but still, it picked at a strange, former wound of hers.

Jo kept her ear there, hearing no clear words, and going over her options in her head;

_Kick in now, or wait until she leaves? _

She looked down at the doorknob, as if to guess if it was unlocked or not.

_I never was a patient woman. _

Fastening her palm around the doorknob, she twisted it determinedly.

It was locked.

The talking inside quieted.

Tapping into the Bloodstone on her right forefinger, she easily pulled the metal bars magically back into their wooden holes.

Joanna twisted open the door.


	2. Who Will Be the Next In Line - The Kinks

The other woman had her hand on their side of the doorknob, she felt, but pushed it open nonetheless.

Feeling the Bloodstone funneling power into her body, Jo got a first look at Dean.

He lay on the bed, sheets furled and bunched around his shirtless form.

Jo crossed the threshold the moment they met eyes. She stopped after the first steps inside the room, feeling the thickness of the air press against her skin.

"Excuse me-"

"Well!" Dean interrupted the woman on Jo's left with a wide smile, "Little Jo-anna." he split her name, drawing out the 'o'.

"Dean." she responded, cooly, feeling her chest constrict at the sight of him.

He got up from the bed, bouncing off of it creepily cheerful.

And completely naked.

"Well shake me up and cream in my mouth."

She and Jo remained quiet, staring at him.

"Like whipped cream in a can?" He shook his head, "Damn, you girls have some dirty minds."

His tongue flicked over his lips deliberately smooth, staring Jo down.

"How did you find me?"

"I didn't."

He offered a wide smile, eyes fading behind her, looking for someone.

"Sam with -?"

"No."

She had guessed his question before he asked it.

He grinned and chuckled, as if she were not a threat without his brother.

"Alright, sweetheart," he stretched his arms out and took a step back in challenge, fingers twitching beckoningly, green eyes gleaming nastily, "give me all you got."

She simply stood there, staring at him.

"No need to be shy, Anne here has seen it all."

It was the first time Jo looked at her, and it proved very eerie.

Anne looked strikingly similar to her.

The resemblance was a bit alarming. Blonde hair, thin face structure, small nose, full mouth, even her body type seemed to match Jo's. Perhaps the only contrast was her eyes; a light blue-grey to Jo's brown.

Anne shifted uncomfortably, eyes suddenly downcast, realizing their similarities also.

"Anne." Jo spoke her name.

She did not meet Jo's eyes, but focused somewhere on her face instead.

"I'm sorry. I need some time alone with him."

The other blonde heaved in a defiant breath, then moved her eyes surprisingly to meet the huntress's, "Are you his wife?"

Jo was taken aback, but rejoined immediately, "No."

"Girlfriend?"

"No."

Dean whistled low, "Let's move it along here, Chrissy Cryptic."

Jo turned her attention back to him.

Anne still didn't move.

"You know what Jo?" Dean made a show of trailing his eyes all over her body, licking and biting his lips generously.

Then he made an indifferent face and shrugged his shoulders, "what the hell, I can go another round," and winked at her.

Jo felt herself shudder inside with contempt.

"Go on, Anne Marie, ol' Jo and I got some things to do."

This time, it was Jo who refused to look at Anne, though she felt the other woman's cheeks redden from where she stood. Jo could feel the offense roll off of her as she collected her clothes, and passed quickly behind Jo, and slammed the door harshly on her exit.

Jo thought she heard a faint sob sound through the closed door before Anne ran off.

The huntress just kept her eyes on Dean.

He trailed backward to the bed, sat and patted the mattress aggressively beside him, "C'mon in, Jo, I bet I'll show you a whole new side to me."

She didn't answer, stepping into the room further, but stopping short by the dresser. There was no intention to get in the bed with him.

He scoffed, flashing her his signature cruel smile, "Well then," he got up off the bed again, slid on some black compression shorts and sauntered toward her.

Jo tensed, clenching for an attack.

He got awfully close, reaching behind her to grab the bottle of rum that sat on the dresser, then reached on the other side to get the glass, completely cornering her body with his, her bottom against the short wooden furniture.

It was so confusing, for Jo to have him so near, for her to still feel that want to grab him in a hug, to feel like he was _her _Dean.

_But he's not. _

"Why are you here?" His grumbled breath warmed her face. He drew the bottle and the glass in front of her, pouring himself generously before putting the bottle back down.

Rather than say she didn't know, Jo reigned in her lips.

He leaned in close again, and flashed his eyes to black.

She knew what he was, but the sight of it sent that chill through her spine.

"Come to take me away from all this?" he backed away from her, his smile wicked, eyes still blackened.

Dean threw back the drink, "Or - you're dying to play out your newest fantasy?"

He his grin grew smugger, eyes returning to her favorite green.

She took the gun from the holster snug under her shoulder and cocked it.

"Mhmm," he hummed pleasurably at the sight of it, "Safe word's 'Bananas'."


	3. Piece of Your Action - Motley Crue

"Dean-" before Jo could continue to speak, he threw the glass at her.

She lurched to the side as it shattered on the wall behind, shards spraying at her back.

Swinging back up from her duck, she aimed the barrel at his leg - but was too late. He was already on her, wrenching the gun from her hands, and laughing while she struggled to keep it.

His muscle was far superior, but Jo quickly boosted her strength, feeling the Carnelian power draw from her thumb ring.

Both their hands were on the gun, applying opposite supernatural forces against it.

Their fronts pressed against each other violently, their faces close.

"Ooh," his eyes twinkled, feeling her power, "You got some witch in ya. I hate that."

He released one arm suddenly, grabbed the back of her head and forced it diagonally down.

Jo's nose smacked onto the dresser, painfully.

She shouted and loosened her grip on the gun, and threw it to the side hastily.

Trying to ignore the rush of pain and dizziness, Jo quickly counteracted with a powerful kick to his stomach, using the dresser as a crutch for steadiness.

It hit.

Her hands grabbed the bottle on the wood before he could rejoin, and she took the opportunity to smash it across his head.

He only stood there, bourbon and shards of glass trickling down his face. He exposed his tongue and licked all that it could reach.

_Damn those moments of panic._

He took a step toward her.

"You never learn, little Jo."

He punched her before she could raise a block.

She stepped wide and circled around, ready for another.

"No back-up."

He came swinging with his other arm.

Jo blocked, redirected, and landed her own fist to his jaw.

Something popped loudly, bone girding on bone.

She withdrew to a defensive stance and saw her damage.

Dean's jaw was dislocated, jutting grossly to the left.

He regained balance from the blow in two backward steps. Forcing back into place and healing it instantly, he offered a bloody grin.

"No plan." he spat red directly at her feet.

Dean dodged her second kick, and grabbed her leg as it came down. He used it to whirl Jo's body to the other side of the room, letting go once momentum got going. Unable to stop it, her front plowed into the wallpaper, a series of sharp pains matched with it.

She drew the angel blade and twirled to face him, slashing before he could get overpoweringly close.

He jumped impressively away from the blade's horizontal motion.

"I got props." she answered, tasting the blood from her nose drip over her lips.

Dean laughed, "That you do, girlie."

She lunged to cut through him, he dodged again, and snapped his hand out to grab at her wrist. Jo jerked it out of the way, and shed the silver by his left side.

She got the inside of his arm, right at the crook.

The blood ran freely down his forearm, his teeth bared in minor pain.

Dean lifted his eyes from his quickly re-sealing wound, back to the huntress he fought.

She raised her weapon, switching grips of it so the blade came out the bottom of her fist. Jo hesitated when she met his greens again, and swallowed hard.

Dean saw her stance waver.

He smirked,"You can't kill me."

"No." She agreed in anger.

Jo prepped her grip again, this time to throw it at Dean's arm to pin him against the wall.

As if he read her mind, he lifted his hand, directing his black energy to catch it.

The blade flew from Jo's fingers, but stopped mid-air near his palm.

She felt his power constrict around it.

Channeling her Onyx stone, she called the gun to her hand. It flew from the corner of the room directly into her palm. I

n turn, the blood trickled faster out her nostrils while the stones synced with her body's energy flow.

The blade was hurling at her.

Planting her feet, Jo jerked her head and shoulders out of the way. It zoomed past her face, flying up stray hairs and stuck sharply to the wall behind.

She faced the gun's barrel down again, and pulled the trigger.

POW.

It went right into his foot, the demon trap bullet anchoring him there.

Dean screamed even lounder, "BITCH!"

"You're forgetting the 'son of a'."

He growled, ripping the back of his throat. Throwing out chaotic arms to grab her, to break her.

She backed well away from his reach.

Viciously frustrated, his hand flew up to command the blade behind her free from the wall.

Counteracting his move, she promptly gripped it with her own power, overwhelming his and immediately and rejecting his influence of its movement.

"Looks like you need some more practice, hun." She allowed herself a smile for once, "Don't let it get to your head, I've just got a knack for it."

He snarled, eyes black, and hunched over his shot foot, as if to move it.

"Stand tight, Dean." her smile gone as she unpocketed her phone, "We'll figure this out."

"Only thing I need to figure out is what I'll rip off your body first."

Taking a breath through that statement, Jo scrolled to Sam's name.

_I won him fair and square Crowley, now I'll call whoever the hell I want._

Turning away from Dean, she pressed the call button.

It rang once.

The room turned oddly silent.

A second ring reverberated.

Jo turned, to make sure -

There Dean stood, fingers dripping in blood, warped bullet held between them.

_I should have shot his hands._

She dropped the phone, raising the gun- Dean threw the hunk of small metal, and with his power, it zoomed straight into her flesh. Jo felt it cutting through the soft spot just below her shoulder, through the nerve. It didn't exit through the other side.

The strike followed down to her hand, and immediately affected her secure grip on the metal. She dropped the gun, unable to hold it anymore. The nerves in her body flashed burning hot, and her vision fuzzed to thick black and white dots.

Dean was smiling ruthlessly, his eyes swallowed in black.

He stepped to her, having quickly healed his own foot.

Jo tried to raise her arm in offense, but was met with another shock, reverberating through her nervous system.

In her moment of suffering, he had taken the blade from the wall and shoved it into her other under shoulder, mirroring the bullet wound across from it.

She screamed.

Dean took her by the throat, leaving the blade inside, and her air supply was suddenly cut off.

Enormous pressure constricted around her throat as he lifted, her boots jittering just off the floor.

Her body fell into chaos, writhing anyway it could with limp, injured arms.

Jo's panic consumed her, and it did not occur to employ the magic dimly available at her fingertips.

His hand squeezed tighter and tighter, her eyes watered heavily, her nose streaming blood.

Dean Winchester was going to kill her.


	4. Hush - Deep Purple

**Note: I couldn't resist making each chapter based on a song like playlist. I'm inspired by songs much to much! WARNING:_This chapter includes a torture scene and instrument that may be graphic to some readers._**

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Just before Jo thought she would suffocate by Dean's hands, he threw her onto the bed.

Coughing, she bounced, and gasped for air.

Her oxygen depraved brain didn't even register his visiting all four corners of the frame bed, tying her limbs up to the posts. Only when he wrenched her injured arms up to tie them, did she realize what he was doing.

Screaming in pain again, she drowned out all other thought.

He slammed a fist into her stomach, and she heaved up silence.

"Keep it down!"

She sputtered, weakly, "Fuck you."

He smiled, "Anne already did," he pulling at one of the ties, "she likes it kinky."

Dean sat on the bed next to her tied form, sighing.

Tears were streaming in reaction to her arms, she could feel the bullet and the blade inside, she could feel the chord of nerves on either side tearing slowly in the position.

She whimpered at the thought.

His forefinger pressed to her lips, "I told you to be quiet."

Moving that same finger, he lightly drew it around her jaw, down Jo's neck and playfully circled her shoulder wound…

"I've always wanted to do this."

"Dean, no-!" she realized what it was.

He stuck his finger into the hole where the bullet tore through.

She bawled her agony to the air, and his hand ripped out of her injury and slapped down on her mouth. His finger, wet and warmed in her blood, smeared over the side of her face.

The demon leaned in close as she sobbed, his nose touching hers, "I said, hush." he said firmly.

Dean brought this other fingers close to Jo's right eye, holding up two, "I'm adding another one for that."

Jo braced herself for the pain, her breathing amplified against his hand.

Dean forced his fingers in, stretching and ripping the flesh carelessly again, and she screeched without control behind his palm.

Black eyes sunk them in deeper, raising his voice over hers, "The more you scream, the further I go!"

She couldn't help it, her legs were kicking uselessly, the arm offended twitching uncontrollably, her body raking in terrible sensations, her mouth against his hand still screaming.

He let out a short laugh, "Sounded kinda naughty didn't it?"

Joanna felt his second knuckles pass into her shoulder, his fingernails scratching bone.

Her eyes wrenched backward, stomach and nervous system pinching eratically. Blinding sensations struck her consciousness. High pitches of pain stung at the core of her body, jutting deep into her nerves and muscle.

Shuddering, she cut her scream off, trying for control. Jo clamped her lips shut under his rough palm, and whimpered as quietly as she could let herself. It was an imimpossibility to remain silent.

"There you go, Jo, there you go."

He rubbed his blood-slicked finger against her teared cheek, as if to pet her into encouragement.

Dean thrust his other fingers deeper still, and she let a hushed, agonized moan tear from her throat.

"Good girl." he praised, watching his fingers slide inside her, her nose brushing his cheek.

Laughing, he raised them out, then plunged them in again. And again and again and again.

Jo's throat was raw, trying to keep quiet, keeping her pain contained.

"Very nice!"

He took them out and gabbed her face with both his hands, squeezing her cheeks, "What should we do now, huh?"

He pushed her head into the pillow harshly, her face painted in her own blood from his fingers.

Jo could smell it. Her stomach heaved, but nothing rose besides the bile that rested in her mouth, burning. She swallowed that, body sweating and shaking.

He got up from the bed and walked over to the dresser, opening a drawer to retrieve something.

The young witch took her chance, "Secare arctior-"

Dean turned immediately and slashed his fist into the air, transferring the blow onto her throat through his limited telekinesis.

She was silenced again, feeling as if her trachea was severely displaced from the hit.

Black eyes took something long and metallic out from inside the dresser drawer.

_Is that a cattle prod? _Jo thought, frightened for the reveal.

Dean walked back over to the bed with it in hand.

Leaning over her, he started removing the stone rings from every other one of Jo's fingers and the bracelets on her wrists.

"This is why props just don't work for you, Jo."

Lastly, he pulled the horned bronze necklace harshly from her neck.

Smirking at the amulet back to her, Dean let them all drop in the trash, "Once I take them, what do you have left?"

Jo shuddered, knowing there was nothing to draw power from now to help her escape.

"I can use 'em because I don't _need_ them." He reached behind and pulled out what he had retrieved before.

"They're all kinds of fun, though. Like this guy," He held it out for her to see better, "he's a Lead Sprinkler."

Her face grew steadily whiter, recognizing what it was.

It resembled a wand; one end decorated lavishly for the holder, the other a large spherical container. Half of the dome was thick and solid metal, while the other half bore strategic holes.

"Now, I know what you're going to say; it's a little outdated, but man, I love the classics."

Joanna tensed and shook, the breathing from her nose erratic.

In response, he smiled, pleased to see her frightened.

"Let's play a game Alistair and I used to during downtime in Hell; guess what's inside." his finger tapped lightly on the bulbs bit.

Twirling the torture device, he held it experimentally in hand, sphered end to the ceiling.

"Boiling water? Oil? Tar? Lead? Or something else…"

The huntress's wide eyes focused with terrifying clarity at the holes that riddled the bottom half.

Dean turned it slowly upside-down above her stomach, and molten silver dripped from it to bore and bubble into her skin.


	5. Crossroads - Cream

**Disclaimer:** For those with sort attention spans, I do not own anything. Some of the dialogue at the very end is directly from the show!

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His arm ached.

Sam grimaced, driving down a road with large fields surrounding it in an unfamiliar car.

Damning the weakness of it, he thought back to how he broke it all those years ago, at the beginning of hunting, in Illinois.

In 2006, he and Dean had been in Greenville, when the teenage girl had been sadistically preserved as a zombie by her want-to be ex lover. Her tackle was all dead-weight and his arm had broken under it. Since then, it had never been exactly the same, and a couple of weeks ago he was reminded of that during his hunt with Cas and Jo.

Greenville was a smoother fight than the more recent one, even after all his new experience and strength gained over the many years.

It just wasn't the same, the teamwork.

Yes, the three could work together, but something was missing, and it disjointed them from an even hunt. His arm was direct proof of that.

Jo and he had a spotty history at best, while still friends at heart, it scared him how well they could react to each other in combative situations. It brought back biting memories of him as a conciousless person. He sensed it made Jo extremely uneasy also.

Were they always destined to evolve into such a person?

To be a hunter, there was a callousness, one that grew so steadily it was hard to even notice. And now we were flashed back to review our years in past, Dean missing again and the two of them working together again.

Was the ruthlessness worth it?

Right now, he'd have to answer yes.

He and Cas, on the other hand, had problems flowing from a different vein. They're constitution of teamwork lie in an emotional sense, both having done major wrongs in the past and eager to redeem themselves. Their over-compensation launched them headlong into any altercation, and acted without each other's cooperation.

As Sam analyzed his relationships with his closest friends, he understood why they hadn't faired well in the fight weeks before.

It it explained the drifting, in a way that no one had even actively tried to stop.

_Dean would have, _he thought,_ he would have reminded us what it meant to be family. _

And his brother needed him now, even if the note said different.

Nothing, not even the lack of help and friendship would stop him from finding him. He was going to pay it back, all those years Dean sacrificed fro him, had sought him out and saved him from certain death. For being the one constant in the entirety of his life.

His debt to Dean just kept growing.

Apparently, not even falling into the depths of hell with Heaven's two biggest bosses for a year could fully repay.

Sam realized he was once again, in debt to him, even after which was met by Sam with only ungratefulness and loathing for months at a time after another failed death.

It was Sam who pushed him inadvertently into the Mark. And it was his turn, again, to make up for it, to get him back.

And there he was, pulling up to a wayside bar; the first he saw on his journey. The directions to the nearest crossroad were all mapped out in his mind. Now all he needed was someone to summon for him.

As a Winchester, his face was on the warning bulletins of every Demon office around the world.

Parking quickly, he stretched his body out of the car, shoving Ruby's knife into his jean waist band for good measure.

It was strange to him, after all these years that he still called it 'Ruby's', and ironic that he and Dean had killed her with it.

The sudden thought of the short brunette was another pin mark to the bulletin of his mistake board, and drove a spike to his heart.

Flushed with more determination, Sam walked directly to the bar's front door.

Stepping over the dusky threshold, his eyes adapted to the signature yellow hue of a dive bar. The counter in sight, he adjusted his dislocated arm to a more comfortable position.

Sam curtly asked for the most watered-down beer from the tender, paid and turned to his options.

It was early in the evening, he purposefully came in at this hour, hunting for the hopeless people it would attract.

They were scattered all over the establishment; a couple with distant eyes playing pool, a single, clearly ex-military man playing darts with great force.

_Not him_, Sam decided immediately.

There was an older woman, hair short and sticking out everywhere with a drained pint.

_Maybe._

His eyes rested then on a perfect Mark sitting on the bar.

This man in his mid-thirties with an over grown mustache curling over his front lip was talking to himself, as the bartender was clearly not listening.

"What am I supposed to do now?" he was saying.

_Perfect._

Before Sam could even lift a leg, his cell phone buzzed in pocket.

Placing the bottle in the grip of his useless arm, he dug it out.

**Joanna** the screen read.

He stared at it as it finished out the first vibration, debating to answer.

It shook again, and her name glared at him, a vivid blue in the background.

In the middle of the third, her ignored it, sliding that red button under his thumb.

Shoving his phone back into his jean pocket, Sam moved in on his target.

Half-way draining his beer, he was certain that she wouldn't call again.

Sam made a note to listen to his voicemail later.

He slid into the seat beside the man, thoughts of Jo fading from his focus.

"I feel like my life is over." the civilian was saying, "Oh geez. I should've seen it coming. When does anything ever work out for me? Huh."

"Hey there." Sam lamely broke the ice

"Hey."

"Sounds like, uh, thing've been a little rough on you lately, huh?"

_This will be easier than I thought. _


	6. Bad Blood - Neil Sedaka

**Warning: **Again, this chapter contains themes and devices of torture and may be graphic to some readers.

**Disclaimer: **I obviously do not own Supernatural!

* * *

Part II: In the Exit of Humanity

* * *

"Hey, Hey!"

The demon was slapping her face.

"Wake up!"

Her eyes opened to green ones, her nose awoke to thick iron, her flesh fused tightly with beads of hot silver, all her bruises and breaks and gashes returned tormentingly into existence.

The immediate response was to look away, but Dean grabbed her jaw with his bloodied hand, forcing her to keep contact.

"You passed out, Joanna."

She tried to squirm away from him, but he held too firm.

"You know, there was a time I couldn't make you leave me alone. And now you just fall asleep during? What happened to that passion?"

The blonde stared back, eyelids drowsy and drooping.

He jolted her jaw and pressed down harshly, "Answer me."

"Dean, please…just-"

"Make it stop?"

Jo's lips trembled.

"Kill you?"

She sucked in a careful breath, accepting this might be how she was going out.

_The irony._

"Nah, I would never kill you. You're too much fun."

The bile rose again, acid in her throat.

Crowley said that to her once, too, years ago.

He released her jaw, delighted to see how much he had broken her.

"We'll do something else."

Reaching over to the blade that had rested in her shoulder for hours, he gripped it, twisted and drew it out simultaneously.

Joanna growled in intense pain while he did, feeling the fresh flow of blood trickle down her armpit and onto the mattress. She tried to control the new wave of tears stinging her eyes and face.

No doubt this would be worse than the last round of torment that had lasted hours.

When Dean had exhausted his use of the Sprinkler, he busted out his first blade, then Thumb Screw for her toes...and beyond that she could not remember. Dean had screwed the latter instrument far past the resounding breaks from the big toe before he realized that she was unconscious.

The demon crawled onto the bed, his arm reaching around her side and lifting her body easily upright. He still had the angel blade in hand, it pressed sharply against her opposite breast, streaking her shirt with the blood on it.

Sliding himself neatly between her back and the cushioned headboard, he settled into bed behind Jo, his legs on either side of her own.

Though the thought crossed her mind, the witch was too weak to act on any kind of chance to struggle against him for escape. Without her magic, her strength was laughably defeated compared to his.

She felt his warm from against her back when he released her, allowing her body to fall back against his. Dean blew Jo's wisps of hair away from his face, and his cheek pressed lightly to the side of her head.

"What, feeling deprived? Crowley's not the cuddling type?" she rasped out.

He chuckled, "Cute," and moved the blade across her chest, his chin resting on her shoulder to see what he was doing.

Jo clenched, breathing heavily, anticipating a new, deep cut.

"Shh, shh," his other hand petting her hair, "Just relax."

For a minute or so, they remained like that; him stroking the blonde curls, Jo wondering what he had planned, inwardly flinching.

His chest rose to speak.

She held her breath, fearful.

"You know you're the one of the only witches I've seen who uses rocks?"

_What?_

"Most just get it from Demons. No depending on those stupid things-"

Joanna scoffed, thinking she knew where he was getting at.

Her voice scratched out, "I'm not selling my soul to you."

"There are other ways to borrow power, babe."

Pressing himself up against her, he leaned the two of them slightly forward. She winced and sucked in the pain that strained her tied and injured arms, her shot one surely dislocated.

From their left side, his arm crept out, over hers, leveling it with her lips. At the crook, where she had cut it open in the fight hours before, the blood was dried. His other arm took the blade in hand and re-opened the skin exactly were it had been before.

His blood gushed forward.

"I mean, Sam was such a badass when he did."

She got it now.

"No, no, Dean, no!"

Jo's body began to buck and writhe, all injuries forgotten in sheer panic, trying to throw herself away from him.

His legs twined themselves suddenly around hers, forcefully straightening her knees and holding them in place.

"NO! Dean, _please_, no!"

He threw the blade to the side, and moved his arm under hers to quickly grab and steady her jaw with his hand, placing his fingers on the flesh between the teeth to keep it wrenched open.

The demon's bleeding arm began its constriction around her face, his bicep flexing against her cheek.

"NO!"

Joanna shrilled; the sound amplified against his skin.

Fitting his arm around her face, he locked her into position, the wound open at her mouth; and squeezed.

The blood poured in, sliding down her throat. It gurgled there, as she tried to instinctively cut the flow off with her tongue. It only filled higher and higher.

"Drink. It." Dean's command cracked in her ear.

Jo refused.

He flexed his arm around her face one more time, and the blood filled up, reaching her canines. Dean's arm released and moved away from her mouth.

She sprayed some out before his palm thrust her jaw upward suddenly. There was still a good amount inside her mouth. His large hand encompassed her lips entirely, his thumb and forefinger clasped around her nostrils.

The huntress thrashed her head around, trying desperately to throw his grip off. He responded by wrapping his bloody arm around her waist, clamping her closer to his body, anchoring Jo from movement.

He would not release either grip.

The blood sloshed sickeningly in her cheeks.

Joanna's lungs burned for air.

Deep laughter filled her ear.

In a panic, her throat opened, and gulped it all down.

He lifted his hand from her face, and she gasped for breath, the iron aftertaste tingling on her tongue.

Desperately, she tried to cough it up, to make herself heave it out, but neither prevailed.

Feeling that dreadful chill creep under her skin, it rose fearful bumps to the surface, and she fully grasped what had just happened.

Already, she could _feel_ it spreading, dispersing from her stomach.

Dean guided them back down, as if to relax once more. His fingers stroked her hair, proud.

"Atta girl."


	7. The Red and The Black - Blue Öyster Cult

**Disclaimer: **A small amount dialogue in this chapter comes directly from Season 10's first episode, I don't own anything! Thank you to yueyue and guest for reviewing!

* * *

"Kali Ma, Kali Ma! Kalima Shakti de!" Dean's voice wavered dramatically, his hand tensed in and fingers outstretched in act.

He placed the spread out fingertips over her blood-smeared left breast, denting the skin and twisting his wrist there as if to reach through her rib cage and lung to pop her heart out.

Joanna lay there, limp and dry; of tears, of blood, and of humor.

Dean paused, for referential reaction.

"No? C'mon, that's classic."

Still, she didn't answer.

She hadn't spoken since he forced her to drink for the second time. For that event, he decided straddling her would much more entertaining.

He enjoyed the bucking ride Jo gave him trying to fight the oncoming swallow. He coerced her to take it by limiting her body of oxygen and taking advantage of the chaotic reaction to regain it.

Jo felt disgusted. Feeling it in her veins, creeping, fusing with her own blood was enough to keep her in suspended in jealous horror.

What scared her was how his smiles, his laughs, the way he talked, the way he joked, the way he was…it was Dean.

Through and through.

But his soul was blackened.

No conscious. No care.

What was worse, Jo did feel his blood making her stronger.

It was as if pure caffeine was buzzing in her veins, cycling and rejuvenating her muscles and healing all injuries inflicted by Dean days ahead of where they should have been naturally.

Already she could feel her practiced magic stirring stronger, replacing the natural stones as a source to draw her energy from.

She was sure Dean could feel it too. Somehow, the primordial connection between them was increasingly intensifying. It was nothing she could have explained in full thought, because her own understanding of the connection itself was limited. It was like a vague pulse, almost, of his energy signature.

As Dean chuckled to himself, he got up off the bed, pulling a shirt over his head and putting the angel blade down on the dresser, picking up his phone.

He muttered something out of her earshot.

Shutting it and shoving it in pocket, she sensed he was readying himself to leave.

Just as he was throwing on a button-up, the door opened rudely.

The huntress shot her eyes over to the newcomer, and felt her lips involuntarily pull back in revulsion.

Crowley.

His eyes first hit Dean's, who paused, putting the over-shirt on briefly to stare back. After the moment was passed, Dean continued shouldering it on, popping the collar down into place.

The King of Hell stepped in, he shifted his eyes to Jo.

She returned the glare, but the demon kept it brief, returning back to his new bestest bud.

"This is why you don't call?" his voice actually sounded offended, gesturing to the bloody bed.

Joanna scoffed, which faded into deep, rusted laughter.

"Oh Crowley, take it from me, he's got the love that keeps girls like us waiting."

Dean grinned over his shoulder at her, chuckled himself, then turned over his other shoulder to throw his partner in crime a sly smile.

Crowley directed attention to her and whistled, "Joanna, beautiful as ever, pet. Love the new look. Going for a red edition of Britany's sparkle bodysuit from _Toxic_?"

Jo widened her loathsome smile, "Wow, look at the big fan! Take a sip from your devil's cup, why don't you?"

"_Oooo_," Crowley's corner mouth perked up sassily, "Snappy you are, maybe I ought to snap off your tongue. I don't think you've given your pet enough discipline, Dean. You can't let them muck about just because they're adorable."

Sliding on jeans, Dean's smirk remained, "Listen to you guys, fightin' over me."

Both the demon and the witch cast Dean narrowed eyes.

Dressed, Dean returned Crowley's look, "I'm in the mood for some foosball."

"Fine. We have some things to discuss, you and I."

Dean's eyes rolled, "No rain on this parade."

Dean moved closer to Crowley, to the door still cracked open.

"Hurry back, honey," Jo's voice shook lividly sarcastic, "I'll need some more bacon."

The two men paused in the threshold.

Dean's lips spread proudly from ear to ear, "Don't you worry, baby, you just stay right where you are, and I'll be back."

"I won't keep him long, love, just a few beers with the fellas."

Jo glared as they stepped over, and the locked door began to swing gently closed, Do Not Disturb sign swinging from the front handle.

Crowley's comment was the last she heard, "Did it have to be in _my_ room?"

* * *

After they lost their game, the red and the black eyed took a beer to a booth and sat.

"So." Crowley began, fingers twirling the glass over the wood.

Dean didn't encourage conversation, instead he drank deep from his Porter.

"Joanna. Surprise visit. How are we dealing with that, then?"

His partner still didn't respond, watching Anne-Marie getting hauled out of the bar by a burly man.

Irritated, Crowley cut to the chase, "Did you feed her your blood?"

Dean's eyes tore away from the interaction, "Yeah. So?"

"_So_?" Crowley exclaimed, somewhat hushed, "Are you _mental_?"

Dean snickered, "You're so British."

He took another gulp.

"Giving a witch, who is also a hunter, demon blood? I know you're new to this, but that is a big no no."

"Why?' he asked indifferently, this throat still constricted from the swallow.

"Demons and witches aren't the friendliest of bunches, Dean, rivals and all that. We're _Star Wars_ and they're Trekkies!"

"And hunters?"

"_Doctor Who_?" Crowley sputtered, "Who gives a fuck? Don't change the subject."

"Did it look like I was being friendly?"

"You _gave_ her power to heal herself from the damage you caused. _Made_ her borrow it. We never let a witch, much less a hunter, have that. Not without a soul in it for us."

Dean finished his beer, and answered unconcernedly,"Oops."

"Why didn't you just kill her?"

Dean shrugged, "Relax, would you? Killing her right away isn't satisfying, it's Jo. I gotta give her that push, for old times sake. I'm having fun."

"You haven't spent this long having your _fun _with anyone else. Do you still have feelings for her?" Crowley rolled his eyes, "And here I thought you were a new man, you're falling right back into it with her, just like the old you."

The King drank a large portion of beer from his glass, shaking his head in half-feigned disappointment.

"Yeah, well, not to worry," Dean's eyes did not meet Crowley's, "She means nothing."

"Good, good. 'Cause you and I, we're rolling stones. No distractions. Kill her. You've had your night of _f__un_ and reminiscing, now put an end to it before it bites us in the arse."

After a couple of seconds, Dean replied, ignoring the order, "I'm gonna go get some air."

Crowley watched him, seething as he got up and crossed the bar, to the side exit in the alley.

Before Dean reached it, Crowley pulled out his phone and sent a quick text:

'DW on his way. Avenge your Queen.'

He hoped that Dean wouldn't spare demon number 6 like he was Joanna. His plan wasn't going as swell as he had hoped. Joanna was supposed to be dead, Dean was supposed to have already fed that god-awful tribal tattoo on his arm tonight. There wasn't supposed to be a need for demon number 6 in his orchestration.

It seemed Dean struggled with kills from his old life. Too much lingering sentiment, maybe, too soon.

Crowley supposed this would push back his plans, he would have to start smaller now, integrate Dean with a trivial assignment; killing for clients.

Dean couldn't botch that.

Simple, impersonal, perfect.

Feed the Mark and bring Dean into that seat to the right of Crowley's throne.

Suddenly, the phone he had just put on the table started to vibrate.

He stopped his sip of beer and checked the caller ID.

Impossibly, it was demon number 5.

Curious, he decided to answer.

"You're dead."

A familiar voice cracked harshly over the line, "Nope. Just using a dead man's phone."

Crowley smiled wide.

"Moose."

* * *

**Note: **As usual, my fics interweave with the actual plot-line of the series, so try to remember what happened earlier on the season! I won't be regurgitating what happens to Sam when Cole nabs him or Dean killing Lester or what Cas is doing in the background for all this (basically most of the second episode) but it is all still very relevant to my own invented plot.


	8. Brother - Alice in Chains

**Disclaimer: **Again, I had to use some dialogue from the second episode of the season for continuity's sake! But this is an AU and I do NOT own Supernatural

* * *

It was late when he returned.

Lester's blood was drying slowly on his blade, and in the dim light of darkness it gleamed black.

With a smile, Dean wondered how this would go over with Crowley.

Before he told his demon partner what exactly had happened tonight, he wanted to pay a little visit to his Joanna.

Reaching the hotel room, he immediately recognized the absence of the demon guard Crowley had dispatched to ensure the hunter witch would stay contained.

Dean smiled, the inkling idea of what happened while he was away coming quickly to mind.

The dried smear of blood a few feet from the door, staying the perfect polished wood with smattered blotches. A few drops even scattered the concrete at his feet when he stepped to examine it.

Opening the door with the key, he stepped into the room, and found the ties snapped off, hanging loosely from the posts of the bed.

Dean's lips spread wider, the corners of his mouth turning up.

It was just as bloody as he left it, but his girl was missing.

So was the pearl-gripped colt, the lead sprinkler, and the angel blade.

The demon sauntered over to the trash can, and dumped it over with his foot.

Silver rings and bracelets with various powerful stones tumbled noisily out, shining in the dim ceiling fan light. Even the amulet Dean had once worn for years and years with a human soul lay within the garbage, the bronze shine ominous.

If possible, his grin grew more proud.

Leaving the room as he found it, Dean stepped outside again, picking up the trail from the bloody crumb she left for him outside.

There wasn't enough blood here for her to have drained him right there. She must have injured him, then with her new strength dragged him to the nearest car - and there, third parking space over Dean found yet another of blood and the remnants of rubber burning out in reverse from the space, then taking off into the night.

Chuckling, the proud smile still pulling at his mouth, Dean admired the scene before turning to report to Crowley. And in that event, Dean noted to keep Jo's escape far from the topic mentioned.

Let be a surprise, like Jo was sure to make their next encounter.

Dean almost couldn't wait for it.

"That's my girl!"

* * *

Sam stepped out of the strip bar, feeling as if Dean might be just around the corner.

He winced the side he fell purposefully on to escape that obviously ex-millitary man's classic torture chair bond was still throbbing, fresh.

Once out, he nabbed the guy's car, certain to check under the hood for any kind of kill switch before entering, and quickly ditched modern day, juiced-up Inigo Montoya and the creepy farmhouse off the side of the road.

Cole, his name was, Sam remembered all too well.

Just another name to the growing list of people who wanted to kill Dean Winchester. The list for finding him, though was significantly shorter, only two other than himself; Jo and Cas.

The trail was blazing now, where was Cas?

Sam had called him awhile ago with Dean's location information, he hoped the angel didn't get himself into trouble again.

A vibration in his jean pocket tore some attention away from this feathered friend, and he pulled his phone out.

Looking at the caller ID, he let a sharp breath loose and clicked his tongue irritatingly over the gap in his front molar, but he answered.

"Hello, Bullwinkle. You miss me?"

"So much." Sam deadpanned.

"You're here for Dean. I'm here to give him to you."

Disbelieving, Sam couldn't help but say, "What?"

"The little prat's bad for business. He's...uncontrollable. Must be the Mark. Anyway, Dean's your problem now - again, and forever."

"Then where is he?" Sam firmed his desperation.

"First, there's the small matter of my finder's fee. You get him, you give me that bloody jackass of a blade."

"Fine. Where is he?"

After Crowley gave his brother's location, the demon held Sam's attention, delaying what would have been an immediate hangup.

"Oh, and Moose?"

"What?" Sam spat.

"You really ought to check on our little bird, Joanna. Last I heard she was a bit tied up, like deep internet erotic movie style."

Sam stiffened, mind flashing to that voicemail reminder he kept ignoring on the top of his screen, and a panic swarmed his chest.

"What did you do to her?"

"Me? Take it up with your brother when you see him."

The line disconnected before Sam could formulate a response.

Drawing the phone from his ear in the same motion of his tentative exhale, his thumb, shaking, slid over to press and hold the button labeled 1.

The triple tone rang in his ear, pitches shocking his drums and pounding at his heart.

A woman's automated voice annunciated over through the speaker. At the receiver, Same's lips rolled nervously over themselves.

"You have one unheard message."

Tone.

The curtailing scream erupted into his ear midway through, then was cut off suddenly by sounds of choking and a scary familiar, husky chuckle.

Despite the pull in his chest to_ do_ something, he knew it was all already done, that the only thing he could do was listen.

A scuffle of sound blared the speaker and Jo was coughing, then another scream and a thud.

Their voices snapping at each other, bickering, the words muffled from the distant phone. The brother listening in strained his ears, to try and make it out.

"Dean! No -!" and the rest was exploded out the speaker, Jo's bawling vibrating the plastic onto his hear with it's force. And stopped abruptly.

Sam squeezed his eyes and tried to swallow, but felt the sharp drought in this throat as the alive tried to work its way down.

When Jo's tortured cries started again, it continued, uninterrupted for the length of the message. It ended just how it had begun; mid-scream.

"End of message. Delete press-"

The phone had slid from Sam's face and disconnected before it gave him any other options.

_She found him. She called to tell me._

The blame was entirely on him.

_If I'd have just answered..._

Swelling with guilt and fear of her death, Sam huffed out some breaths and paced, forcing himself to think.

_There could still be time. Crowley said he was Dean, just demon version. Even evil Dean wouldn't kill Jo __immediately, he'd want to-_

Sam stopped his thought there, plugging Jo into the numerous images of bloodied bodies from a collective of past experiences.

His stomach squirmed sickeningly at the thought.

He had to get to his brother.


	9. Lady Evil - Black Sabbath

**Note: **Thank you to xoSabina, emsalter32, yueyue and the guests for following and reviewing my story! You guys are awesome and keep me motivated to post!

* * *

A slender woman, black dress skirting the polished jade tile beneath her, strives into the grand lobby. Her thick heels pronounce her walk while her flamed hair made every eye in the space aware of her. The smirk pursed on her ruby lips knew the gravity they held.

She adjusted the book she held under her arm, as if to protect it better.

_Perhaps I should keep a lower profile, _the thought occurred to her, _I'm a wanted witch now._

Instead of acting on assimilating to the surrounding, she threw the cation to trample under her black heel.

She'd been in hiding, on the run for too long. She wasn't going to let the Grand Coven spoil her fun this time. This time it was about her, her needs, what she wanted.

_Let them come for me._

She approached the counter and smiled warmly at the clerk behind it, dark eyes pouring into him.

"Welcome to the Hess hotel! Are you in need of a room?" The deskman greeted with a tilt of curiosity to his head.

"I'll have one, yes, thank you dearie," her thick accent moved smoothly over the spoken words.

He set to typing, "Long way from home?"

"If you own the world, you're always hoom," she responded with a clever grin, "I'll only be needing one for the nite."

"Certainly, m'am, we have one on the third floor available-"

"I'll geit the penthouse suite, love. And you woon't be needing any payment, either."

"M'am?"

Over the counter, she slid a small wrapped bag halfway, locking eyes with his.

Eyebrows pinched, he took the bag, and was immediately swept over with an overwhelming desire to help her with any need, at any cost.

"Perfect, M'am. Here's the key, and my personal pager number. Call me should you need anything. Anything at all."

The smile was wide on the woman's lips, "Aw, you're sucha dear! Thank you."

No one would stand in the way of what she wanted ever again, fed up with playing by the rules, or playing against them in secret. Why shouldn't she get what she wants, and be able to flaunt it?

Once in the elevator, she pulled the book from the safety under her arm, and her long, red polished fingers swept over the leather surface.

The key to building her new life. Building her coven. Her way.

She had taken the lives of an entire white-practicer coven in sacrifice to get it, and building a new one under her direction and teaching in its place seemed a fair balance to offer the powers that be.

The Grand Coven thought they could hide it from her, but after all these years, she sought it out, and eliminated everyone that stood between.

Once in her penthouse, she lounged on a chair and opened her newly acquired book to read, eyes eager to consume the words of magic and prophecy of witches within it.

The hybrid witch was the only topic that burned in her brain as she swept through pages to look for the same words of the old language she searched for.

Her coven would not be so narrow to exclude any kind of magic - even if sourced from demons, from blackened, ancient souls; the darkest of all.

Witches needed to take that power, swallow it whole and reinvent the supernatural world, the magical order.

The knock interrupted her reading ancient chronicles of hybrid witches; some burning out from the overload of power, their bodies unable to take in both demonic and witch magic, while those rare few that took reaped chaos.

"Com back later," she sang out irritatedly.

The door opened anyway, and two women came in with a cart of food.

"I'm sorry M'am, but the clerk downstairs -"

She stood up immediately and whirled, "What ar ya-"

"He insisted we bring this up to you, all complementary of course."

They were well into the middle of the suite, the door having closed and locked behind them with no one near it. The two women in the hotel uniforms stopped and turned to her, standing away from the cart.

"Please, ladies, we knoo exactly what you're doing here."

"Rowena, you're damned by the Grand Coven, charged with murder of multiple sister witches, theft of a forbidden text, and accounts of illegal magic use." One spoke out.

The other stepped forward authoritatively also, "You've escaped capture for a near decade, and your trials are now void."

"By the powers that be, you are sentenced to death."

"Have I now?"

The locked door was suddenly burst in, the door leaving dents in the wall behind from the forced entry. A woman stood in the threshold, blonde and lithe. There was a rage all about her, an aura half black floating around her person.

A black magic wielder.

_My, they really wish me dead._

Rowena braced herself for a three against one fight, raising a magical shield around her to deflect their attacks.

The blonde woman's honey eyes quickly passed from Rowena to the other two intruders, whose faces were completely stupefied.

She swung in the room, and lashed her arm outward.

The other two assassins were slammed against the wall opposite, grunting in pain.

"What the devil..." Rowena spoke as she watched the scene unfold.

One of the Grand Coven assassins quickly regained their ground and faced off the blonde witch.

"Stand down. By order of the Grand-"

The blonde viciously waved her hands again, taking the flame from the fire and shooting it at the GC officers.

Deflecting it, the GC witches redirected it and shot it at the newcomer.

Quick, the blonde spun from it, and took control of the picks aligned neatly by the fireplace with her magic. Whizzing them through the air, she launched them into the assassin's stomaches, then curved the path up and pinned their bodies bloodily to the ceiling.

With a few last gasps of breath, the GC witches were dead, their faux hotel uniforms soaking up the lifeblood.

The blonde stood under them, a hard and dishonored expression on her face, her body taking in hefty breaths as the dribbles of red fell all around her.

Rowena observed her curiously in the silence, waiting patiently for the blonde to interact first.

The stranger turned and fixed her eyes on the ancient witch.

"You Rowena?"

"And how mite you knoo-"

"Local witches sensed some signature magics working in town; used and seen only once before type-wielding. Not to mention the slaughter of the coven few cities back."

"Aye. I see. You're a huntress then?"

"A hunter? Yeah."

"Ah witch too?"

"Let's say so."

"You practice-"

"Whatever's available now. I was…formally introduced to black recently, and I'm rollin' with it. I hear you're the witch to talk to about things like that."

"Perhaps. Aboot what in particular did you wish talk?"

"You know how to vanquish demons."

Rowena hesitated, curiosity feeding her interest, "Yeas, dearie."

"Teach me."

The Scottish woman strode gracefully around the room, boot heels softly thudding against the carpet over wood.

"Well, you've certainly...prooved yourself," Rowena gestured elegantly to the bodies above them, "We'll have to see…"

"I just saved your life. _See_ that you teach me or I'll send hunters and Grand Coven witches on your ass."

The young hybrid witch narrowed her eyes unpleasantly, keeping her distance in space and demeanor.

_She's the one. The one to start everything._

Rowena smiled warmly, "An to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Jo."

"Joanna?"

The blonde's stare was hard with correction.

"Jo."


	10. Chains of Misery - Iron Maiden

**Note: **Thank you for all the support!

**Disclaimer: **Some of the dialogue in the following chapter comes directly from Season 10 episode 2, and in now way to I own it or Supernatural's characters.

* * *

Ha.

_This is great_, Dean was thinking.

This guy called him Dean-o - and that put a wide smile on Dean's face. It reminded him a certain someone was still out there, also trying to kill him, get revenge or whatever to their little heart's desire.

He felt so popular - cool enough to suddenly have so many groupies, so many people to make his life so wonderfully violent and interesting.

This was the good life, alright.

"You're good," the guy who had Dean on the other end of the pistol was rambling on, "Oh, you're real good. But, you see, I'm better."

_This guy's a crack-up!_

Dean admired his persistence, but was getting a bit bored by the routine. He needed to spice it up some - there was no risk, no danger that Dean could be facing in hand to hand combat against this guy. Dean was gonna win the throw-down and he knew it. This was tinkering around, and it was only mildly entertaining how pathetic this jarhead was while he kept getting slammed down.

Speaking while making a round, he noticed Sammy had up and left his laying position next to the door, and smiled, hoping this was about to get more interesting.

"What did you think was gonna happen, huh? You just stroll up here and say "my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," And I'd just roll over? Well, that's just - it makes me sad."

A spate of quick moves and Dean's face was temporarily slashed, and Dean was holding the offending knifed arm out and ringing his fingers around Inigo's neck, staring him in the face.

"You have no idea what you walked into here, do you? None."

"What are you?"

"I'm a demon."

"You said if you saw me, you would kill me, so do it!"

"Nahh, that's just so," he released the guy, letting him slide down against the car door and stepped away, "predictable don't you think? Too bland."

Dean heard his brother run up from behind, and grinned wide in excitement.

"Oh, but here comes Sammy boy with some zest!"

He turned to the new challenge - Sam squeezed the bottle in hand, and out came the purified water.

_Damn predictable, fucking hunters. _

While the water sprinkled the demon, some sizzles rose, an pain pricked the skin, but Dean only grimaced and moved out of the stream.

"C'mon, man!"

His bro's face lengthened and his eyes grew, if possible, bigger, and the stream slowed.

"This is the _Mark of Cain_, you're dealing with! Sure, there's some heat, but, you've got no fire, buddy."

Dean moved to punch -

Sam dodged and reached out to grab his brother's wrist with his good arm -

Dean snaps back with a powerful kick-

Sam staggers, cuffs clinking, dangling from his clipped arm.

"Ah, there it is! There's your spice." Dean enthused.

Standing off, Sam's adams apple helps down a hunk of nervous spit, his nose wrinkles up and his knees bend, in preparation. His eyes only flash behind Dean once, but the demon doesn't miss it.

Inigo is up, and the two coordinated in the split-second glance.

"This is more like it."

Dean jerks his head to the side, throwing a quick elbow to the guy's face, then steps out from Sammy's rush to slap a cuff on his wrist.

The two hunters meet in the middle, with Dean at the head of the narrow triangle, licking his lips in anticipation. His eyes beam at them both while his hands raise up, fingers giving the universal, 'come get me'.

Inigo goes first, powerfully swinging his arms right, then left - Dean narrowly avoids them, ducks and swipes a low fist at his side.

Sam steps in with a long-legged kick - which Dean leaps backward from and grabs his clipped wing and rips it out of the sling.

Moose bawls his pain to the air as his brother wrenches it straight behind his back; one hand pressing on the separation of the dislocated shoulder while the other twisted the wrist up.

Inigo is back in it, fists up and facing Sam shielding the demon.

Dean forces the cuffs from Sam's stiff fingers, feeling the middle break backward under the pressure of refusing to let go of the cursed metal.

"Arguah! Dean - no, no - please - don't do this-" Dean pressed and twisted harder, "AHH!"

"Ahh, shut it, Sammy, no one wants to hear it," He looks beyond his tall sibling's shoulder to his second opponent, "Am I right? How the hell did we not put a bullet in this pouty little mouth before, huh Inigo?"

"Cole."

"What?" Dean spat as he snapped the cuff around Sam's wrist, leaving the other open, ready and out of sight.

"My name. You evil son of a bitch."

"Hey now," Dean tilts his head playfully, "that's my bit."

Cole moves quick to roundhouse Dean behind Sam -

Dean releases his two hold on his brother, whipping him around by the chain cutting into his wrist.

Cole's kick is counteracted by Dean's heel.

The demon grabs the jarhead's forearm -

The other rears back to punch -

Dean takes one - two hits across the face while tightening the metal around Cole's thick wrist.

He smiles as the red spurts over his lips and the injury heals before more blood flows over.

Dean steps away as both Sam and Cole take their swings over their chained wrists - which he easily avoids as they awkwardly stumble from their tangle of awkwardly connected movement.

The demon laughs loudly.

"Alright chuckleheads."

Gripping both the back of their heads, Dean forces their foreheads together, a resounding crack producing a matching pair of crimson cuts there.

Dean kicks one back, then punches the other and they stagger together, backs hitting the car that Cole had crunched over before, joined at the wrists.

Sam needed an extra punch to keep down, but Cole's eyes were already fluttering.

"This was fun, Sammy, real good times. But this off and on thing's just not doing it for me anymore you know? Time to make it official." He pinches his brother's cheek, bending down to their level, and glancing at the passed out jarhead, "Think about it Sammy, this could be the guy you've always dreamed of, don't treat him like a re-bound alright? You'll be literally stuck together for a while, so - make it last."

Sam rears his unchained wrist to punch his brother - but Dean catches it and crushes his knuckles.

Again, Sam's throat is letting loose, and tears of pain gather.

"I know, I know it hurts, but don't be such a bitch."

Sam's teeth grit as the hot tears fall over and the anger sets in, "You fucking jerk."

Dean only smiles, reaching into Sam's pocket and pulls out the keys to the cuffs, stands and chucks them - they fly into the air and are lost.

"I'd hate to leave you with nothing, though."

Turning with a crooked grin and black eyes, the demon faces the hunter, pulling out a different set of keys, and puts them into Sam's pocket and stands.

"The Impala?" Sam's strained voice was incredulous, "_The Impala_?"

Dean only shrugs.

"It's just a car, Sam."

"Wow," A left over tear rakes over his dry face, "You really have gone dark."

"You have no idea."

Sam shakes his head defiantly against the green plastic car door, "You know what, Dean? You could've killed him, killed Jo…killed me; you didn't, you won't. You know why? It's mercy. You're right, you're still you, just let me help you."

Dean scoffs, "Mercy? Imagine you spend your whole life hunting down the guy that knifed your father. When you finally find him - he whips you like a dog. How do you think that feels? That kid's gonna spend his whole life knowing that he had his shot and that he couldn't beat me. And Jo, she thought she was getting to the guy she loved, turns out he's just anther monster like the one that ripped open her Daddy, and whats worse - she's forced to become the very thing she hates to survive, to push her to…"

Dean licks his own blood dripping from his lips, and winks a black eye, "drink deep."

Sam's eyes get wider, the shock clear within them, "No. No, she wouldn't -"

"She didn't have a choice, like your new buddy here. That ain't mercy. That's the worst thing I could have done to them. And you - coming this close to 'saving' me, your brother. From this, like we always, somehow have saved each other - and then not being able to? You can't get me out of this, and you can't stop me. You'll have to hunt me down, Sammy - and you know that. And what that's gonna do to you, Sammy... well, it ain't gonna be mercy, either. Try misery."

"Dean - DEAN!"

"It's only just started to get fun Sam," he turns away from the hunter, "I'll be seeing you and your new buddy around."

As the demon struts away, the hunter's shouts fade into the distance, and his eyes fall on a slick set of wheels, and he smiles ruefully.

"Always wanted a Caddie."


End file.
